Captain's Orders
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: He wasn't trained as a soldier. He wasn't a warrior. But when it mattered most, he followed his Captain's orders.


Author's Notes: Ever since I saw _CA:TWS_, I've been haunted by that brave tech (who, if I recall correctly, was never named. If I'm wrong, please feel free to let me know) who said 'no,' even with a gun pointed at his head. One thing I've loved about both _TWS _and _Avengers _is the ordinary people who quietly stand up to evil in their own way … the elderly gentleman in Stuttgart who refused to bow to Loki in _Avengers_, and the terrified computer tech who refused Rumlow's orders in _TWS_. As soon as I saw that particular scene, I wanted to write a fic centered around it. And, as is so often the case, the story wrote itself … maybe not the one I envisioned originally, but probably the one that I needed to write. I thought briefly about giving our brave but terrified techie a name, but in the end, decided against it. Not because he doesn't deserve one, but because I actually think it's more powerful if he doesn't have one.

Disclaimer: I don't own Agent 13/Kate/Sharon, Steve Rogers, our nameless tech, SHIELD, Brock Rumlow or HYDRA (not that I'd want the last two). They are all the property of Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. The only individual whom I do own is Eleanor, but this won't be the last time she'll be in a fic of mine.

Captain's Orders

"I was never trained, you know, to fight."

The young man (age was relative, after all) took a sip of his water, cringing at the way his hand shook. It had been weeks since his world had shattered, and he still couldn't put himself back together. His eyes met the sympathetic eyes of the woman seated opposite him. She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes never leaving his face. There was no pity in those eyes, thank God, or even worse, contempt. Not that he'd seen contempt in the eyes of many (former) operatives since the fall of SHIELD. In fact, as soon as Agent 13 (or Sharon, as she told him to call her) explained to people about what he'd done, he'd only received handshakes and backslaps and quiet murmurs, 'way to go.' But he was no hero, was no one special. He knew that.

He took another sip of water before continuing, "I'm not a warrior, I'm not a hero. I'm just a tech. But … as soon as I heard Captain Rogers' voice, and learned what was happening … I'm not a hero. And I didn't know if I could actually let so many people die. But I … I knew I wasn't strong enough to say no, either. I mean, there was a part of me which thought, you know, maybe it's someone pretending to be Captain Rogers. Sounds weird, I know, but after everything that happened that week … stranger things have happened, and no one …"

There was another pause. He hated himself for it, for the weakness that made him stop every few minutes as he re-told his story. In the weeks since the fall of SHIELD, since the revelation that HYDRA was part of SHIELD from the beginning and no one had known, no one had ever known, until Captain Rogers and Agent Romanova found the evidence, he had nothing but time to think. His job was gone, and while he had money saved up … the truth was, he was still reeling from the events of that day.

"Agent 13 saved my life, you know. She reached under the desk and pulled me out, after I rolled under there to hide during her fight with Agent Rumlow. She reached under the desk and told me that I had to run, that we all had to get out of there. There was blood running down her arm, and she looked scared and angry and … and hurt. Betrayed. But she smiled at me and said, 'surviving this is part of captain's orders, which means we gotta get outta here.' And that's what we did. We … I … ran," he told the blonde woman, all but spitting the last two words out. Her name was Eleanor. She was pretty, in her late forties or early fifties. He'd never been good at telling women's ages, and it was a good way to get into trouble, trying to make that guesstimate.

"You said it yourself … you're not a trained soldier. You stood up to that bully. There's no shame in running afterward to get out of that building. Do you know how many lives you saved that day, just by refusing Agent Rumlow's commands? I don't think any of us will ever know, I don't think any of us _want_ to know how many might have died," Eleanor told him. He allowed his head to fall against the chair, closing his eyes, and nodded. He _knew _he didn't want to know. He couldn't ever know how much blood might have been on his hands if he hadn't chosen Captain Rogers, if he hadn't uttered the fateful words, 'Captain's orders.' He was afraid that his mind wouldn't survive that knowledge.

"I was almost crying, you know. Maybe I actually was crying, I'm not real sure. It's just … it's one thing to do my job when I thought … when it was … when I was protecting …" He sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to stop his mind from its usual freefall. This was why he'd listened when Agent 13 … Sharon … told him about Eleanor. _She isn't exactly a psychologist or a therapist_, Sharon explained, _but she's someone to talk to, someone who is familiar with organizations like SHIELD_. While they no longer worked together, she tried to look after him. Not an easy thing to do, but she would pick him up after work and tell him about her training at the CIA as they ate dinner. They weren't dates … they were just a nice woman trying to help a former co-worker through a rough patch. He allowed his hands to drop back into his lap and looked at Eleanor directly, wearily, saying, "In my mind, I know that you're right. _In my mind_. That means that I shouldn't have nightmares about what could have happened if I hadn't listened to Captain Rogers, right?"

"Wrong," Eleanor answered firmly and that drew his attention completely back to the woman sitting across from him. Evidently satisfied that she had his complete and undivided attention, she continued, "In your conscious mind, yes … you know that what everyone has been telling you is right. In your conscious mind … and that's the key point. Your dreams are part of your subconscious and your subconscious hasn't made peace with this. With any of this, and you know something, there's nothing wrong with that. You keep saying that you're not a hero, but you did an incredibly brave thing. When it mattered most, you said 'no.' And yes, you are a hero, because when you stood up to Agent Rumlow … even if you were actually sitting down … you were risking your life."

He'd been on the point of arguing with her about being a hero, but he closed his mouth with a snap when she reminded him of that. If Agent 13 … if Sharon … hadn't stepped in, he would have died. And he'd known that when he told Agent Rumlow, 'Captain's orders.' Eleanor said softly, "You keep forgetting that, don't you? In all of your self-recrimination about the things you didn't do, or the things you could have done, you keep forgetting the most important factor. You risked your life. You … risked … your … life." There was no arguing with her words or with her tone, and he realized that he didn't want to. Eleanor was smiling at him almost tenderly as she added, "I know that Sharon told you that I'm not exactly a therapist, and I'm not. I'm just a woman who has seen her world destroyed and eventually was able to pick up the pieces … with the idea that I'd help others. I'm not here to analyze you or to tell you things that you may already know. I'm here to give you a different perspective.

"Sometimes, we're so close to what's happening, too close, and we can't see vital things. We can't see the forest for the trees. And when you throw in an event as traumatic as the destruction of a key part of your life? That makes it worse. Is this the end of your recovery? Nope, it's only the beginning. There's a lot you need to come to terms with. But as I said, it's a beginning. Give yourself time to heal … because, be truthful, you've been barely functioning lately?" He nodded, the familiar shame creeping back. But then he took a breath. Enough. Yes, he'd been struggling lately (and he would continue to struggle), but he'd gotten a call about a job interview before he'd come here. He needed to return that call. He needed to get it together.

"I … I still feel as if I should have done more, could have done more. But … maybe I did enough?" he questioned. Eleanor smiled and leaned forward, putting her hand over his as she touched him for the first time since they shook hands. Her hands weren't as soft as he first thought … there were calluses under the softness, as if she'd worked with her hands for a long time in the past, but some of those calluses healed over. And her hands were warm, just like her smile. She really did have kind eyes.

"You did enough, sweetheart. You followed your Captain's orders," she replied. And, he realized, that really was enough.

Fin


End file.
